DAYD Prompt Week
by Elegancexx
Summary: My personal works covering the prompts written on the Facebook Group for "Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness." A collection of one-shots for this weeks prompts. Contains spoilers. Shouldn't be read without reading DAYDverse. Rating for safety.
1. Overcoming Hardships

**A/N: This one-shot is completely based on the fanfiction "Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness" by Thanfiction. It will not be comprehendable if you have not read the works within it's trillogy. As such, it contains spoilers for "Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness" as well as "Sluagh" and "A Peccatis." This was written for the Facebook Group promt "Overcoming Hardships" during our prompt-a-day week. The next few days prompts will be uploaded here as well.**

**Prompt 1: Overcoming Hardships**

Everything about that day was etched like a scar into Hannah's mind.

She knew it was long over, knew she was being ridiculous, that it should have been the battle that haunted her, not that single day. There had been no blood, no tears, no loss…

Just that awful, stung, painful look on Neville's face when he had been relieved of command. Hannah had tried, oh Merlin she had tried to talk to him. Tried to make him see she didn't want to hurt him, but he wouldn't listen. Growing exhausted with the combined efforts of avoid him and trying to stay with him, she'd eventually turned to letters in the hopes that he would listen to her then, when she was no longer a figure imposing on his boorish sulking.

_Dear Neville,_

_I know you're probably never going to open this, but if you do, please hear me out. This first thing I want to say is that I love you more than you will ever know- and believe it or not, that is why I had to agree with the others to relieve you of your duties as our Fearless Leader. Because Nev, I love you so much it scares me. It scares me to know that I would do anything you asked, as would the rest of us, even when you're in a position like you are and making orders that are much too dangerous. But you have to know that, while that may be the reason the others agreed to relieve you, that wasn't it for me at all. You are breaking inside, Neville. Falling apart and ruining yourself every day. You need to look in the mirror and see what we all see. We see determination that is borderline insanity, and that is the harsh truth that I won't apologize for saying. I'm not a healer, I'm in no position to tell you what you need, but if not as your girlfriend then as your friend, please believe me when I say you need rest. You need love. You need someone to be there for you, to talk to, to listen. I've always wanted to be that person, Neville. And I'm so sorry if it hurts you that we had to act now._

_I love you,_

_Hannah_

But he never read it. That one or the others that she sent, trying more desperately than she should have to make him see the truth in front of his nose.

_Hannah had her arms crossed, staring at him, her bare foot tapping the floor steadily as her green eyes seemed to glow with anger, but she said nothing. He fumbled, at a loss for words, then smiled hopefully. "I'm really sorry, Hannah. I didn't know – "_

_"Can you not read?" she asked icily._

_"I didn't look at the letters until tonight, until just before I came here, honestly," he admitted._

_"Why not? Do I only get the privilege of communicating with you if I am willing to agree with you on everything, is that it?"_

_His head sagged. "I didn't know you were trying to help."_

_She threw her hands into the air in a motion of exasperated disbelief and snorted. "In heaven's name, Neville, what did you __think__ I was trying to do? Gloat? Rub it in?"_

_"Explain exactly why you'd thought I wasn't good enough to lead the D.A. That you still loved me even though I couldn't handle it, even though I wasn't as strong as you thought I was." There was no self-pity in his tone, just a matter-of-fact resignation that seemed to stop her in her tracks._

_"I thought the same as everyone else…that you were pushing yourself too hard and needed to be stopped one way or another before you killed yourself. You're not weak at all, you're too strong for your own good. After everything you've done for us, why would I ever think you weren't __good__enough__ to lead?"_

He had been a bit right about what those letters meant, of course, but that wasn't what echoed in her mind still today. Hannah's worst memory, the biggest hardship she ever had to overcome, besides the loss of her mother, was fearing that she was going to lose him. That day amongst the D.A. was the first time she knew the true fears of a lover, and that fear continued on and off for a great many years.

_He squeezed her gently, turning her to look directly into the green eyes he loved so much. "It's only three more years. Then they'll have more people who __want __to do this, and they'll be able to let me and Ron and a bunch of the other ones go who just agreed to play stopgap after the veterans had been pretty much wiped out."_

_"And then no more waiting up? No more dark wizards?" Her fingers skimmed over his forehead again. "No more wondering if I'm going to get you back in one piece every day? No more 'sorry, Hannah, that's Need-To-Know'?"_

When the incident about the Sluagh was eventually solved, Hannah finally had time to slow down on worrying and just live life. But the one thing she had grown to realize was that maybe, the greatest hardships to overcome weren't the sudden losses, the instant deaths, the gruesome battles. Maybe, just maybe, they were the little fears that grew over time. And in suffering them, maybe one learns to overcome them.

Hannah understood now, why she had been left with a sense of dread ever since the end of the war, and it hadn't been because of the horrors she had seen, it had been because of her own love for her husband.

But they were worth it, weren't they? These hardships. She had a man who would never leave her, never stop loving her, never disrespect her. A man who was a great father for her children.

What hardships could possibly make something like that not worth every last one?


	2. Anniversaries

**A/N: I think it's safe to say you know I don't own any of this except my personal word choices. I am playing in Thanfiction's section of JK Rowling's big playground. Only the swing is mine, to put it metaphorically. I hope you find this chapter a bit different than some might interpret the prompt.**

**Prompt: Anniversaries**

The one thing that most people forgot to realize was that the war affected everyone. Not just Potter and his Golden Trio, not just McGonogall and the staff forced to unite with dark enemies, not just Dumbledore's Army even, and they were the ones it ought to have scarred. And for most D.A. it was true- they were scarred by their memories and the livid wounds across their hardened bodies. But it was never just them who felt hollow on the day of the battle for all of the years following.

It was Mrs. Weasley, as she began to knit a sweater embroidered with the letter "F" before realizing that it was a waste of yarn. Fred would never see it, and he'd never wear it. She never knew why she always knitted him one anyway, every single year, and laid it upon his grave like a wreath of roses. The sweater from the year before, if it was still there, would go to George. Merlin knew how he enjoyed wearing the faded red and yellow, a commemoration of a true Gryffindor, as he laughed at the looks on the faces of those who assumed he was Fred, back from the dead. Although she did hope that wherever Freddy was, he was warm inside of a Weasley jumper, looking down at her with a cheeky grin and laughing that she still bothered to make him one.

It was Fiona Macmillan, who pulled out a pair of Ernie's work gloves and sobbed over them like they were a sacred artifact. She often laid them besides the mittens she had made for him when he was a baby and marveled at the way his hands must have grown from then until his last Christmas here. It was hard to admit that her boy, her man, her son was gone forever and those gloves couldn't ever be filled again, though Susan often slipped them on despite the size and remained entranced by a single hole at the tip of the pointer finger. How had Ernie made that hole? What was his favorite flavor of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans? There were so many questions left unanswered that had seemed insignificant in the face of the battle and that dreadful year that now seemed vital, and left both women feeling hollow.

It was Elaine Corner on each anniversary of the battle, when she ran into Michael's room to admire his many books with a trace of sorrow, and pulled one from the shelf, watching as the two letters she had read every year since his death landed on the floor. The first was from her husband, an old one that she had passed on to Michael to show him that even when Daddy was away on business, has was still writing and loving them all the same. The second was from Terry, and it had initially roused intense suspicion within her that her sons sexual preference wasn't spot on. Something she wasn't sure she'd want to live with knowing.

_Mon Ami,_

_You don't know how grateful I am that your house has been open for my accommodation these past few weeks of summer. How thankful that I didn't have to go home. __Je déteste ça là-bas. You know how I hate it there. But I am not only writing my thanks, toi que j'aime. We have something huge to discuss, and I need to get in close proximity with you so we can talk; it is not the thing to say for listening ears. It involves a book, though no more on that can I say. I believe you know which book, because times are truly getting desperate. Please understand this as best you can without detail. I fear this owl could get intercepted and searched._

_Ne vous oubliez pas avec tous ces ennuis. Je suis désolé que ces semaines sans votre papa sont durs. Tout ira bien._

_Terry_

One thing Mrs. Corner knew for sure was that her son and Terry seemed very close. She almost wondered if they had become…Well, an 'item' of sorts. The way Michael described it, the way they looked at each other at the table, either they were highly connected together or they could read each others minds. The latter of which she had deemed impossible. The boys were brilliant, but two-way legilimency was virtually unheard of. But these days, she didn't care anymore what had roused her suspicions so high. All she knew was that her son was somewhere, burned and buried, and with him had died so many secrets that as a mother, she ought to have asked about. It was a deep regret.

All of them, all of the parents, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and now even children, felt a terrible sadness on the Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts as painful as the scars upon Fearless Leader's back when they had been fresh.

That's what death and war does. It leaves one with so many regrets, so many losses, and so many remaining agonies. But perhaps it was good to feel those hideous emotions, because it meant one vital thing to those who remained. They were alive. They had survived. And they would live on to maintain the memories of the fallen, to pass them onto their children and their childrens children, and everyone who would listen.


	3. Bunnies Everywhere

**A/N: Well as you know, there are spoilers in every one of these chapters, the characters and locations and many other things aren't mind, they're Rowling's and Thanfiction's and yadayadayada. Enjoy. This was a particularly odd prompt, but I think I've got it down pat.**

**Prompt: Bunnies Everywhere**

Luna always liked to think she was a very observant girl- her eyes were open to more possibilities than many people even considered. Some thought her intense beliefs to be a sign of madness, others a sign of naivety. But one thing was certain: Luna knew how to think outside of the box.

Trapped as she was within the confines of Malfoy Manor, where she had been for only a day so far, she could easily recall using a spoon in her last imprisonment in order to direct magic from her personal desires. However, when her occasional meals arrived, she was dismayed that no such spoon existed. She'd have to think of another way to achieve her ends. She had eventually settled herself up against the stone walls of her holding cell and began to untangle her hair by hand, braiding and re-braiding it into intricate designs to pass the time.

"That's lovely, dear girl," a voice said from the back corner of the room. Luna gave a start, though no image of fear appeared on her dreamlike features.

"Oh, thank you. I can't decide if I prefer it up or down. What do you think, Mr. Ollivander?" she replied. The elder gentlemen slid into the pale light cast by the tiny hole in the ancient door to their confinement.

"Ah. You knew I was here. Sharp girl, you are," he said, not fully answering about her hair. She didn't mind though. It was good to hear another voice.

"Oh no, I'd not say that. I'm just good at recognizing voices," she said, her voice practically singing.

"You can't think of a way out of here with that brain of yours, can you dear?" the old man responded. Luna shook her head, but appeared as though it wasn't a big deal.

"No, but if I could get my hands on something wand-shaped I could send a message. Otherwise we'll just have to hope that a Hinkypunk finds its way in here. They're particularly good at helping, once you stop being afraid of them."

Ollivander nodded as though he understood, though he was secretly wondering how a Hinkypunk could speak without an obvious mouth.

As both people stopped to consider any possibility of escape, they were started out of their reverie by the clattering of the door opening. Ollivander started to ease his way forward, curious if there was food to be given out that hadn't been pushed through the slot, but he quickly slid back when a hand was roughly shoving something into the cell.

It was a boy. A boy and another small creature that was indiscernible from the distance. Luna recognized the dark skin and lanky body instantly, as Dean Thomas landed on the cold floor. Wormtail turned and left quickly, before anyone could try and overpower him, leaving the prisoners alone in the dark.

"Merlin, Luna? Is that you?" Thomas called out, coughing something awful as he held his side and started to crawl closer to her.

"Yes, I'm over here Dean. Is there something wrong with your ribs?" she answered with concern.

"A bit. Snatchers caught me and Griphook here-" he gestured at what appeared to be a Goblin. Griphook gave a noncommittal grunt to respond to the introduction, before passing out with exhaustion. "-Last night by the river. They weren't especially nice about finding a Hogwarts runaway and a goblin. Don't know why they've brought us here though. I'd thought they were ransoming and killing the ones they caught." Dean had finally made his way over to Luna, where he eased up against the wall besides her.

"I think they've hurt Griphook worse than me though. I've just got a dislocated rib, but he looks bloody awful. They really worked him over good. You haven't got any way to help him, have you?" he said imploringly.

Luna looked at him with a slight bit of hope. "You haven't got anything that resembles a wand in shape, do you? Because I might be able to help in that case."

Dean shrugged, reaching into his pockets. He was about to shake his head- the Snatchers had poured over what little belongings he had- when his hand brushed up against the broken half of a quill. He pulled the damaged feather out and handed it to Luna skeptically. "Erm…Will this do?"

Luna bobbed her head excitedly. "Ooh, yes! Yes it will!"

By now, the prisoners had all started to watch her carefully, but she took no notice of them as she focused her mind on how badly she wanted Griphook to survive. Who knew, maybe he'd have some fascinating stories to entertain them all with when he regained consciousness. Words for the spell weren't necessary, but she tried not to jump with delight when at last a blue light emerged from the quill and surrounded the goblin in color.

In his sleep, he gave a sigh of relaxation and rolled over. She turned her wand on Dean, focusing on how much she hated seeing people in pain and hoping that her desire would work on him. Happily, he beamed at her when his rib righted itself, although he grimaced as it popped back into place.

"Luna. You're absolutely brilliant. Has anyone ever told you that?" the dark man said with a white smile.

"I don't know that they have. But thank you, Dean. I just wish could get us out of here, but I've tried before in another prison and it just doesn't work that way," Luna murmured, noting as his expression fell.

His face lifted again though as he had an idea. "Well, what about a patronus? Could you send a message?"

He tried to resist the hope that she might be able to get a hold of Seamus. If anyone would come for him, it would be Seamus. His best friend. And…Well, hopefully more than that someday. But Seamus wouldn't want anything to do with him, he was sure. Maybe it would be better to message someone else…

"I could give it a try," Luna said, trying to ignore the voice in her head that doubted it would work. She hated doubting. It must have been a passing Wrackspurt. Her brain felt fuzzy with that doubt. She had barely been able to paint with her food before, let alone create something as powerful as a patronus. She finally willed herself to produce some company, pretending for a moment that she was alone in the cell.

It was all anyone could do not to cry out loud when a white hare sprang forth and sat across from her.

"Well done!" called Mr. Ollivander. Dean was too happy to even respond to the magic, but Luna kept her wits about her as always and turned to the rabbit.

"I need you to take a message to Neville Longbottom," she said, ignoring the look of surprise on Dean's face. It was obvious he wasn't at all up-to-date with how things were going at Hogwarts. "But don't go out the front door in case the Malfoy's see you, and don't deliver it if Neville is in front of any professors. Dumbledore's Army is safe, but the Carrows and anyone else are not. Tell him 'Neville, we are trapped in the basement of Malfoy Manor. Dean Thomas, Mr. Ollivander, and a goblin are with me. Don't do anything rash, but please help if you can.'"

Dean was momentarily shocked by the sudden burst of sanity in her voice. One thing was sure, this war was changing people. When had Luna become so resourceful? Or perhaps she'd always been that way; he'd just been too preoccupied with Seamus to notice.

The hare did not move.

"Oh," was all Luna could say. Dean looked at her wildly, wondering what she knew that he didn't.

"You can't get out either, can you?" Luna whispered, touching a finger onto the corporeal figure. The hare didn't respond, but Dean knew it to be true.

From then on, the days started to grow into a blur. Even Luna had started to give up hope of escape. Although, she did find a source of entertainment within the quill. Unlike before, she didn't resort to painting the cell, as it would be pointless without any light to see it by and their food was so tasteless and colorless there was no possibility of it.

But she did begin to produce patronus after patronus, as she saw everyones face light up at the feeling of happiness that came from the rabbit figures.

Dean never knew what was so comforting about having bunnies everywhere, but it was nevertheless settling to have such a happy beam of light within the cell day in and day out, hopping from person to person, giving light to the darkness, and hope to the prisoners themselves. If Luna could produce a patronus even in here without a wand, they might well find a way to escape after all. Eventually.

One thing was for certain. Luna was odd, but she was bloody brilliant.

That he knew for sure.


	4. Don't Stop Me Now

**A/N: I think this prompt is one of my favorites so far. I enjoyed combining it with an idea of mine as to where the though of apparating with a patonus came from. Read it, and then you can see my comment at the bottom explaining my thoughts. I had particular fun writing this, as I so love Terry and Mike and I enjoy scenes involving drunken hillarity. Enjoy, and remember I own nothing.**

**Prompt: "Don't Stop Me Now (for I am having a good time)."**

Terry was, to say the least, most exorbitantly drunk. Excessive drinking wasn't a pastime he indulged in often, however there were times when it was completely necessary, and today was one of those times. Things at Hogwarts were starting to get really bad, and Terry had only just felt the worst of it, as he had thought at the time. During practice with the D.A. last night, he had for once, failed drastically. Because of what? His hair. His own blasted hair was so damn long that it got in the way.

He finally worked up the courage to tell Mike the truth- that he was feeling awful because of his long hair, and Michael had agreed hesitantly to shave it for him.

Michael Corner wrapped his hands around the handle of his wand, walking besides Terry towards the door of the Ravenclaw common room. Terry turned at looked at him, an obvious question in his eyes.

_Why are we leaving the tower? Shouldn't we shave it in the bathroom?_

Mike looked at him with softened eyes. _I don't think you realize how drastic this decision is, mate. That's why we're doing it in the Room of Requirement. I think we both know you're going to have a worse time of it than you're expecting._

Terry said nothing, but he didn't have to. The agreement was in his expression alone, which to Mike was as readable as large-font parchment.

"Meet me there. I'm going to pick up some things that you're going to want," Mike said to his friend. Terry couldn't imagine what he could possibly need to pick up, but he knew to trust Mike completely, and he waved him off before casting a disillusionment charm on himself and heading out of the tower in the direction of the staircase.

He paced back and forth three times across from a large portrait on the seventh floor, thinking to himself,

_I need a place comforting enough to make a change in myself. I need a place where I won't be disturbed. I need a place for only me and Mike, where no one else can enter._

A large oak door materialized before him, and he entered the room. The longest wall was filled by one massive book shelf, his favorite titles laying across the shelves. There was a single blue and gold colored bed with the sheets in a tangle, and a pair of what was supposed to be white socks on the floor. In the corner, a marble fireplace was sitting on a diagonal, it's mantle covered in pictures of Mike and Terry, and folded up bits of parchment that looked like letters.

Terry was in a replica of Mike's bedroom. He hadn't even realize that this was the place he felt most comfortable, but it was true. Here was where he had slept the first night he stayed at his best friends, there was the place where he had stopped said best friend from ending his life over his father's death. Every memory, real and forgotten, was hidden in this room.

As he did every time he went to Mike's house, Terry sighed in a contented way and magiked Mike's socks into the laundry bin and the bed cover on top of the bed before he went to sit in a comfy arm chair besides the fire, where he waited patiently.

A knock came on the door, and Terry opened his mind.

_I've come with the supplies. Are you ready?_

_Of course._

_Well then, let me in you crazy __cinglé._

Terry opened the door, watching as Micheal Corner stepped into the room and let out a low whistle. "Wow. My bedroom? That's where you want to do this?"

Terry shrugged. "It's where it all started. Our friendship, our idea to try out legilimency, even this school year, if you want to get technical."

_I will never forget how sentimental you can be, my friend. You never told me my bedroom meant this much to you._

_I never knew until the room transformed._

_It's perfect._

Mike sat cross-legged on the rug, beckoning Terry to sit in front of him. Terry started to turn around to allow his friend access to his hair, but the dark haired man shrugged.

"Nope, I thought you might need a drink first," he said, waggling his eye-brows. Terry laughed and reached out for a bottle of firewhiskey that Michael had pulled out of his school bag, along with a muggle razor and the latest edition of "Magical Mysteries" for his scholarly friend to browse during the cutting.

"Fine, but you sir don't get a single drink, otherwise I will return to the common room with more cuts in my skull than brains," Terry replied with a laugh, popping open the cap and starting to drink down the whiskey. He cringed as it burned down, having never been big on alcohol. But, he wasn't sure he wanted to do this sober, which his friend instinctively knew.

_Terry, mon ami, are you really sure you want to do this? _Michael thought tenderly. Sure, hair was hair, but the length was part of Terry's identifier, and he felt odd knowing he was about to strip that away from his own best friend.

_Cent-pour-cent. Of course I am. Identifier or not, I refuse to allows my hair to cause accidents again. And I'm sure by now, you're more my identifier than my hair is. You and French, and latin, and other mirus languages, to be sure._

_But your hair, Terry…_

…_Will be fine, Mike, honestly. You worry too much._

_Only because you're my best friend._

Terry clasped a hand on Michael's shoulder in silent appreciation, a sense of gratitude rushing over him as he downed another gulp of the firewhiskey. A whirring sound came from behind him, and he glanced at Mike over his shoulder.

_One question: Why a muggle razor?_

_I have a stupid answer to that question, actually. For drama. If I just used the spell, your hair would just be suddenly gone. But I realize the decision means a lot to you so…I won't just magic it away. We'll do this the slow way. The right way. That and I've never quite mastered shaving spells._

_You, never master a spell?_

_Shut up._

_I am shocked._

_I said shut it, Terry._

"Hey Mike, do you think my name is conjugatable?" Terry said suddenly.

"I wouldn't know," Mike said, knowing full well what was about to happen.

"Given that Tiresius is a Greek name, it is justifiable that it would, in theory, have a root word that is perfectly interchangeable depending upon the tense, masculinity, and object. Therefore, I deduce it to me conjugatable by Tiresi, Tiresius, Tiresiés, Tirisimos, and Tiresiables," said Terry with a rapid voice.

"Mate, are you drunk already?" Mike said, trying not to laugh.

"I should think so, yes. I think it's the firewhiskey. Fast acting stuff, isn't it? Especially considering it's technically just wheat and grains left out for awhile and turned into alcohol in an utterly non-magical sense. L'alcool est une chose étrange, oui? Very odd."

Terry stated browsing the Magical Mysteries magazine rapidly, searching for different words and conjugating them as fast as his mouth would allow.

"…the root word being 'levitar' meaning that 'Wingardium leviosa' does work on people as well as objects, which would be helpful if we could levitate half of the Death Eater's out of the way once, you know, the feces hits the fan…"

A long strand of blonde-brown hair landed on the floor silently.

"...meaning that we could, in concept, drown out the entire army just using a single 'Aguamenti' in the you plural form…"

More locks began to hit the floor, and Terry's mouth was streaming more and more conjugations.

"…actually, I think the spell for a patronus is most interesting, because it has more components that many people have explored. If, for instance, you used it in combination with other spells, you could do some seriously weird spellwork with a patronus…"

The pile of hair at both of their knees was growing steadily.

_That's it, Terry, keep parsing. This will all be over before you know it._

"…no, seriously Mike! Listen, you could use a patronus for a lot more than just messages. I'd bet a thousand galleons you could even apparate with one if you combined the spell for it with the spell for apparition. You're the language guru, what's the word for that?" Terry asked quickly.

"Well, technically apparating doesn't need words, but if it did it would be something like…Homenum Antaccio. But seriously Terry, this is getting you no where. You know how exhausted your brain feels after all of this parsing. You're going to regret this tomorrow." Mike said with a smile as he was near completed with the hair.

"No, no. Don't stop me now, for I'm having a good time. I think I'm on to something. Antaccio, did you say? I like it- the opposite of summoning. To send or otherwise transport, combined with Homenum, the word for human. You're good with words, you are. So, in that case…" Terry continued to ramble, as the last of his hair hit the floor.

Suddenly, Mike realized what his friend had just deduced.

_Terry stop. Did you just say you could apparate with a patronus?_

_I don't know, I'm forgetting things quickly in this inebriated state of mine. This is your fault you know, with the alcohol and all._

_Expecto Patronum Homenum Antaccio…Terry, you are a genius!_

_How so?_

Mike started to speak just as rapidly as he had been thinking, words coming out before he had even formed them. "Because! Don't you know what this means? Hogwarts has an Anti-apparition jinx on it, but that's only for humans, otherwise the House Elves couldn't come and go, and it probably doesn't have a barrier against people who actually say apparating words, only think them. You're a genius!"

_Ah, so you think…_

_In the case of an emergency, yes._

_You are brilliant, Mike._

"You're the one who parsed that little idea out, Terry. I refuse to take any credit for it," Mike said, shutting off the razor and crossing his arms.

"Now, before I sober you up again and we walk back to the common room, do you have any more sudden urges to parse huge discoveries out of thin air?" Mike laughed.

"No, no I do not. My brain is getting foggy, actually, and I'm about to start parsing your name, which is rather un-useful, I think," Terry replied.

"Sobrietus," Mike whispered, pressing his wand to Terry's head and walking besides him towards the door.

He stopped at one last realization, and turned back to Terry.

_Terry, why do you always come up with the best ideas when you're drunk?_

_Your guess is as good as mine. _

**_A/N: Well, it's me again, actually having a note at the bottom of the page. Weird, huh? Anyways, I just wanted to say my explanation. I though that Terry's parsing was actually pretty brilliant, and I wondered if maybe it was both he and Michael who came up with the idea of apparating with a Patronus, as used in Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness. Plus, it would explain a whole other reason for Terry feeling so awful when Mike was up there being tortured for the use of it as well as releasing the little boy. He felt partially responsible, since he was the one who came up with the spell, even if the technical words for from Mike. That is all! ^^_**

**_-Elle_**


	5. Travelin' Man

**A/N: Well, heads up, this chapter contains slash. It features Dean as the main character, and explains very much of the last words between he and Seamus. Even if you're not a fan of slash (I know I'm not really, but here I am writing this) I think you'll find it decent anyways. Nothing graphic happens, except curse words. I enjoyed this one because it is a mini lead-up to Sluagh, by Thanfiction. (Who, again, *Disclaimer* owns the DAYDverse that I'm currently messing around in). **

**If anyone who isn't of straight sexual preference reads this, please note that any remarks made by Seamus against Dean are not opinions that I share. It was written for the good of the story and should not reflect my personal thoughts/feelings on the subject, which I am aware can be a bit touchy. Anyways, enough rambling. Enjoy! ^^**

**Prompt: Travelin' Man**

Dean supposed it would get easier, one day, all of this traveling. He missed having a home base something fierce, but even more than that, he missed the hell out of Seamus. The company of goblins just didn't quite add up to the quality of friendship between he and Seamus. Most people didn't know it, but there was a time when they'd been almost as close as Terry and Michael.

Of course, even Dean didn't know the strength of the friendship between the two Ravenclaw boys, but while he had been at Hogwarts he was quite aware how special they were. But…Well, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to settle for just friendship. Was that wrong? He didn't really know.

There was something to be said though, about traveling and being on the run all the time. It really made one think about everything. Dean found himself in a perpetual stage of flashbacks the entire time.

_Oh Seamus…One day, I'm going to tell you. One day, I promise I'll be the friend you deserve and tell you the truth. I love you, and I am not supposed to, I know it. But why else do I feel every star in the heavens like an intensified spark when you so much as look at me? And when Ginny snogs me, I feel like I'm snogging…I don't even know what. A mop, or something else that I can't really feel. Not for real. And I am so, so sorry that my feelings are making me betray our friendship. Because I know you won't feel the same, I know it, and this will break us. But I'm going to have to tell you. That's what friends do, they speak their mind, which means…Which means I have to tell you I love you, even if…Well, even if I lose you forever._

The days flew by like the ghost of summer, still fading in the back of the mind as winter draws near, leaving one with only a memory of the time past and a dread of the extensive future. Everything happened before he could even think about it. The snatchers caught up with him, and Ted Tonks, and the goblins, and Dirk Cresswell before anyone could even think about escaping.

And then he was imprisoned. Stuck at the bottom of Malfoy Manor, wondering where he was, and watching in fascination as Luna made magic with a simple quill.

And then Potter was there, the hero everyone had waited for, only not to rescue them. Even the Chosen One had to get caught sometime.

And then Dobby had come, and he'd been freed, he and Luna, and Griphook, and Mr. Ollivander, and everything was going to be alright. Mercy still existed, thank Merlin.

And then…

And then…

And then he lost everything. The Battle of Hogwarts had come, the galleon had said everything, and there he was, walking down the passage into the Room of Requirement, eyes suddenly locking with his best friend.

Seamus hugged him firmly, but it was a man's hug, not the hug of a lover that Dean had so often dreamed of. Just a quick pull-in and pat on the shoulder sort of thing.

Regret. That was what Dean felt first. Regret that time hadn't changed Seamus's outlook on homosexuality, but it had changed hs soft skin and littered it with bruises and the beginning traces of a etched blue tattoo.

Fear. Fear followed closely, waiting to find the outcome of this battle, but waiting more because if Dean didn't tell Seamus how he felt tonight, then he might never get the chance. One of them could die any moment, and Seamus deserved to know…Merlin, he deserved to know…But Dean was so scared.

Esspecially when the words finally left his mouth, after he'd pulled Seamus aside, run up to the Gryffindor tower alongside him, begging him to speak in private. Being a good friend, Seamus obligued, until…

"_Dean, mate, the joke's over. You're taken' this a wee bit too far, don't you think? Now tell me what you really wanted to talk to me about that's so private. It's not me mum is it? Because if you're to be tellin' me that you've had eyes on her all those times you've been at me house since First Year, I'm going to have to break something. Hopefully fine china, but it might be your face too, come to think of it…" Seamus said,his laughter trailing off as Dean remained silent._

_No answer came, until, "Seamus, I'm not joking. You're not getting it. I've…I've been on the run this whole year, and when I should have been haunted by fear that Voldemort was on the rise, I was only haunted by your face and the fear I wouldn't see it again and I couldn't explain it until I thought long and hard on it. I reckoned at first it was just because I was lonely, and you're my best friend, but I can't hide from this anymore. I thought I was going mad this whole time, until I realized I have loved you since day one, even if I didn't know it until now."_

"_You…You have?" Seamus managed to cough, feeling extremely awkward. But Dean, taking the stutter as encouragement, leaned forward._

"_Yes. I really have," Dean couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that Seamus had finally believed him and not shot him down for his declaration. He placed his hand gently on Seamus's chin, tilting it upward, lowering his own lips to meet…_

"_Mother of bleedin' Christ and lamb o' the cross, Dean! What are you doing? Aye, you must have plumb lost it on the run if you so much as think you can try that on me. I'm your best mate Dean, not your feckin' future spouse or somethin'. Look, let's forget about this, we can jus' take you to a healer or something'. They'll put you right in the head, they will," Seamus said, starting to back up slowly, reacting roughly to the overly intense look on Dean's face._

_Dean's eyes lit up with hurt. He was fine in the head! He just…Just…Loved someone he shouldn't have loved. But he had to tell him._

"_Seamus, you've got to believe me, just because I'm gay doesn't mean you have to treat me like a bloody leper…" Dean said, more sighing than shouting as his lanky body slid onto the floor at the foot of the bed._

_Seamus was silent._

_Dean was exasperated. "Merlin, Seamus, there. I said it. I'm gay. Would you stop looking at me like I'm going to explode?"_

_Seamus didn't speak for a long while, and when he did, it was poisonously low._

"_I wish you would explode. Then, I wouldn't have to face the thought that you jus' single-handedly ruined our entire friendship. How the hell am I supposed to treat you now then? I..You can't just walk in here on the eve of battle and expect me to know what to say to somethin' like that! Queen Mab's arse, Dean…" Seamus was shaking his head in disapproval, before walking towards the door._

"_Come find me when you get your head on straight," he hissed behind him, slamming the door to the dorm and running away before Dean could stop him._

_Dean couldn't hold it in anymore. Face in his palms, he tried not to cry, tried to forget Seamus's hateful words, but they were still there, spinning in his head._

" '_Come find me when you get your head on straight,' yeah right Seamus. Come fine ME when you're the real Seamus again! You're my best friend…Why are you doing this to me?" Dean thought, as the first tear slid down his face and across the back of his arm._

Little did Seamus know, that was the last time he was going to see Dean alive. He wouldn't even know that Dean had died for him. One of the Death Eater's was coming up behind Seamus, and Dean had wanted to do anything, anything to prove that just because he was gay, just because he loved him, didn't mean that he was any different. He could still be brave. He could still fight. He was still a man. And he jumped for the Death Eater head on, wandless. He'd never had one anyways, and the beginning of the battle. Was going to have Seamus help him find one but...Well, things didn't work out the way he had planned. But he still had his fists, and he went down slower than anyone could have expected. Dodging curses and hexes right and left, hitting the Death Eater in the face when he could, until the time came that he just wasn't fast enough.

He hadn't been trained like the rest of the D.A, just traveled and ran and traveled and ran abd thought and realized the truth until the day the flash of green took his life, and he felt free because he had told Seamus as he had meant to, even if the outcome was undesirable, and he wished he'd never had those thoughts in the first place.

The thoughts that traveling man had thought during his journey on the run had became like poison in both of their veins, and Seamus cursed himself days afterwards, even as he picked up Dean's broken body just feet from where he himself had been fighting, wondering what he had done. Realizing that Dean hadn't destroyed anything. But he, Seamus, had. He was such a monster.

As he carried Dean's torn body across the battlefield, he could hear the spiteful words he had shot at Dean only hours before, running like dark shadows through his mind.

"_I wish you would explode…"_

"_Come find me when you get your head on straight…"_

"_How the hell am I supposed to treat you now?"_

"_I wish you would explode…I wish you would explode…I wish you would explode… I wish…"_

How sorry Seamus was, how badly he felt, how truly it broke him evermore, the things he had said that night to the man he loved, not like a lover, but like a true best friend, and everyone knows a true best friend would never say such a thing.

_What have I done?_

Seamus was shattered.

Seamus was broken.

Seamus was defeated.

And the Sluagh was born.


End file.
